Chapter One IMOGEN
Chapter One
IMOGEN
Stars glitter in the night sky and the moon hangs low, almost kissing the horizon. I peer out the window overlooking the vast expanse of Oakleigh and sigh. I stuff my feet into a pair of fluffy slippers. They clash horribly with the elegant nightgown, but who cares? I bet Alexander’s library won’t have many books to my taste, but while I prefer to read romance books, I’m not averse to the odd thriller. He’s bound to have some of those, surely? Only one way to find out, because sleep is not on the agenda tonight, and it’s a long while until morning.
The house is whisper quiet, normal for this time of night. I pass by Alexander’s closed office door. A light bleeds from underneath. I almost knock. Almost. My knuckles kiss the wood, but then I drop my arm to my side and keep walking.
Unlike his office, the library door is ajar. I step inside, my heart jumping into my throat at the sight of Alexander sitting in a high-backed antique leather chair in front of a roaring fire. The flames crackle and hiss, a bit like my husband when he’s riled. Usually by me. A man capable of turning his enemies to quivering messes with a single chilly glance, yet he doesn’t scare me at all. Why is that? Maybe I lack any self-preservation.
A glass of half-drunk brandy sits on the green baize occasional table to his right. His tie is askew, his top button unfastened. He hasn’t seen me, and I could leave, but I don’t want to. He’s twisting something in his hand, and as I approach, I see it’s a pawn from a chess board.
“We haven’t played in a while,” he says, startling me. I wasn’t aware he even knew I was here.
“You’ve been busy.”
“Mm-hmm.” He gestures to an identical chair to his on the other side of the fire. “Join me.”
It’s an order rather than an invitation, but I sit instead of arguing. There’s something different about him tonight. I can’t put my finger on it, but he seems… less broody. More approachable.
“Would you like a drink?”
I shake my head. “I came to get a book.”
“Then you’re in the right place.” He gestures around. “Take your pick.”
Leaning forward, I prop my elbows on my knees. “Are you alright?”
A sound leaves him that, if I didn’t know better, I’d say was a chuckle. “Define alright.”
“You seem… different. Did something happen today?”
He flicks the pawn in the air with his thumb, much as you would if you were tossing a coin. Catching it easily, he sets it on the table next to his brandy and stares morosely into the fire. Without looking, he picks up his drink and sips.
Seems as if his silence is the only answer I’m going to get. Uncomfortable sitting here, yet unsure whether to get up and leave, I rub the satin material of my nightgown between my fingers. He’s not looking at me, which gives me a chance to study him. The flickering flames light up half of his face, accentuating the high, proud cheekbones and angular jawline. His shirt sleeves bunch around his biceps as he puts the glass to his lips once more. My gaze tracks downward, pausing at an obvious bulge in his groin area. Oh…
“What do you want, Little Pawn?”
My head snaps up, heat racing up my neck at being caught ogling. “I-I’m not sure what you mean.”
“Do you want to touch it?”
I blink about ten times in a row. “I’m sorry?”
“My dick. You’ve been staring at it for a solid sixty seconds. Maybe it’s time we begin your training.”
“My-my training?”
“In how to please your husband,” he says as an explanation.
Tension fills the air, wrapping around me like a silk scarf. I gulp down warm air that tastes faintly of ash from the fire. As is often the case, whenever things get steamy, I can’t think straight. I meet his gaze. It’s… lethal. Dangerous. Intoxicating.
His eyes lower, lingering on my breasts. My instincts are to cross my arms over them, concealing the curve of pale skin, but I don’t. A pulse beats between my legs, fresh and exciting. There’s something in his gaze that makes me yearn. Makes me want. Makes my mouth water.
I shoot a sideways glance at the open door. While the library is in Alexander’s area of the house, Nicholas also lives on this floor. At any moment, he could walk by and?—
“No one will disturb us.”
It’s as though he read my mind. I swallow, my throat narrowed and raw, and nothing’s happened yet.
“There’s nothing to be afraid of. It won’t bite.” His full lips curve ever so slightly.
“I’m not afraid.” It’s true, I’m not. Aroused, yes. Fearful, no.
“Come here.” His voice is soft and encouraging, and I rise to my feet, but as I take a single step, he shakes his head and points at the floor. “On your hands and knees. Crawl to me, Little Pawn.”
My bones are liquid fire. If Alexander means to belittle or denigrate me, he’s failing. His demand stirs a violent need inside me, a desire to please that I didn’t know I had, especially for Alexander. But he’s different today, and maybe that’s part of the reason why I immediately drop to all fours and crawl across the plush, carpeted floor. I’m glad it isn’t hardwood, although even if it had been, I’d still have crawled. I don’t understand these feelings, but they’re so good, so exciting that I wouldn’t deny them even if I could. I’ve never felt so alive.
“Good girl.” He pets my head, stroking my hair in gentle sweeps.
Eye level with that telltale bulge, I check him out from beneath my lashes. His pupils are huge, covering up his vibrant, amber eyes.
“Unfasten my belt.”
I run my tongue around the inside of my lower lip. It’s dry and rough, and in desperate need of lubrication. I’m not thirsty as much as nervous. As I lean forward to reach for his belt, he rests the rim of the glass against my mouth.
“Open.”
When I do, he tilts the glass until the brandy coats my tongue. I swallow, trying not to react to the fiery burn of liquor. It’s not unpleasant, but not my favorite, either.
“Better?”
Unable to find my words, I nod. Once I’ve undone his belt, I await his next instruction. My breathing is fast and shallow, and my chest rises and falls with each lungful of air. From this angle, my breasts hang down, at risk of spilling out from the plunging neckline of my nightgown.
“Pop the button and unzip me.”
My fingers tremble, but I manage to do as he asks.
“Take it out.” His voice is rough and unsteady, chafing against my most sensitive parts. He’s breathing heavily, too, and maybe that’s the reason he tears off his tie and unfastens another two buttons, revealing a hint of fine chest hair.
My hand shakes like an alcoholic going through withdrawal as I reach inside the opening. He hisses as I tentatively wrap my hand around his girth and ease his erection through the gap in his boxers. I can’t get over how soft yet hard it is. It defies logic. But now that I see it, the idea of him putting that inside me makes me wince.
“Grip it. Like this.” He wraps his hand over the top of mine and pushes down toward the base where his neatly trimmed pubic hair tickles the side of my hand. He squeezes, harder than I would have dared to.
“Doesn’t that hurt?” They’re the first words I’ve said since he mentioned training me, as though I’m one of his prized stallions. My voice sounds as though it’s being pushed through a cheese grater.
“No.” His aristocratic jaw flexes. “Move your hand up and down.”
He releases me, and I hesitate. I’m not ready to do this alone.
“Move your fucking hand, Imogen.”
I run my hand upward, right to the tip, then back down again. A muscle flickers in his jaw.
“Harder. Careful of the head. It’s sensitive.”
A creamy white bead of moisture surfaces from the slit in the crown. I run my thumb over it.
“Lick it,” he demands, as though he can read my thoughts. Or maybe I spoke out loud. I’m so lost in the moment, my lungs taking in sips of air, that I can’t tell what’s real and what’s imagined any longer.
I lower my head, lapping at a fresh drop of… of… what do they call it in romance books? I rack my brains. Precum. That’s it.
He groans, and a jolt of power rushes through me. Since the day I met him, there’s been this imbalance between us whenever things turn sexual, yet right now, I have the upper hand. I’m making him sweat and make those pleasurable grunts. It’s heady and addictive, and I crave more of it.
“Fuck’s sake, Imogen. Don’t play with the thing. Suck it.” He presses lightly on the back of my head, covering my hand once more to guide the tip to my lips. He feels large enough in my hand, but I’m not sure how he’ll fit inside my mouth. I don’t think I can open wide enough to take him. And if that’s true, how will I cope when he decides to take my virginity, which could happen tonight.
His hips thrust upward. The crown hits the back of my throat, and I gag.
“Good girl, Imogen. Such a good fucking girl. Relax for me. That’s it. Fucking perfect. You’re fucking perfect.”
His encouragement is what I needed to hear, and my chest blooms with pride. I did that. I made him call me perfect. I’ve no idea what I’m doing, but with his gentle encouragement, I relax into it. When I swallow as he reaches the back of my throat, his entire body tautens, like a coiled snake prepared to strike.
“Jesus,” he hisses. “Fuck, yes. Yes wife.”
I do it again. This time, his groan is so loud, I’m convinced someone will come to investigate what’s going on.
“Look at me,” he growls.
I lift my gaze. His upper lip is dotted with sweat, and he’s clenching his jaw tight.
“I’m close. Christ, I’m close. Don’t stop.”
His cock swells inside my mouth. How is that possible? His pace quickens, his hips thrusting up, wild and uncoordinated now. His fingers tighten in my hair as he holds me steady.
“Too good, Imogen. Too. Fucking. Good.” He grunts again, and his dick jerks once before warm, salty liquid spurts onto my tongue. He closes his eyes, and a look of peace sweeps across his face. It only lasts seconds, but I’ll never forget it.
After a final spurt, he lifts me off him. “Did you swallow?”
I shake my head. The truth is, I didn’t know what to do with it.
Plucking a tissue from a box next to his brandy, he cups the back of my head and presses the tissue to my lips. “Spit.”
I do as he says. Folding the tissue, he puts it on the table and holds out the brandy glass. “Drink.”
The liquor takes away the unfamiliar salty taste. I hand him the glass back, wondering what to do next. I’m wet and needy, but he’s already zipping up his pants, a sign that he’s finished with me. Rejection hits me squarely in the chest, and if I wasn’t drowning in hurt and this wasn’t one of those sexual experiences that makes me incapable of my usual sass, I’d… I’d… kick him in the nuts.
My knees protest as I get to my feet. I take a last look at Alexander, but he’s gone back to staring into the fire. I wish I had a robe so I could gather it around myself. Instead, I use my arms, wrapping them across my torso. I take a single step toward the door when Alexander’s clipped voice rings out.
“Where do you think you’re going?”
Pivoting slowly, I meet his gaze. “I thought… you’d finished with me.”
He stands, unfolding his large frame from the chair like a languid cat after an afternoon nap. Crooking his finger, he says, “Oh, I’m far from finished with you, Little Pawn.”